He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. She turned off the light and approached the window. “Yes. While he was thus employed a farming man came into the barn. He stood outside of the car, bewildered, as she walked up to the BMW’s front bumper. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear.
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